


untitled coachella 2013 fic

by dizzy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on tumblr in six different ask boxes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled coachella 2013 fic

"I am not okay. This is not okay." Darren stares dumbly at Chris, actually looking genuinely concerned with what is in front of him. 

Chris crosses his arms over his chest, fingers curling over his own biceps. "What?" He says defensively. 

"We are supposed to be doing the whole distance in public thing this weekend, and you." Darren jabs a finger in Chris's direction. "You are fucking sabotaging it before we even start."

"It's going to be hot today," Chris says. "I don't want sleeves." 

"Well, too fucking bad, because I'm gonna get two beers in me and start licking that arm vein, and then where will we be?" Darren shakes his head. "Sorry. Go change." 

Chris smirks. "You should learn some restraint." 

"You should buy some restraints and fucking teach me." Darren advances on him, his eyes already getting that glazed-lusty thing going on. "When we're not in public." 

"I'm not changing," Chris says, straightening up. He reaches out and runs his fingers through Darren's hair. "So I guess your job is just to make sure we're alone before you lick me."

*

It's midday and hot as fuck, Darren's hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. He's already read to lose the shirt he has on, but he's got a half dozen more fucking photo ops to suffer through. 

And Chris - he doesn't even know where Chris is right now. Out getting his own photo ops, showing off the shiny facade for a few choice cameras and letting the greedy internet have its fill. They keep circling each other without trying, trading looks that can't last too long. 

They've had a week together. They aren't, for once, desperate for privacy - and yet, still, Darren kind of is, because this is fucking Coachella, man, and he wants to share it with Chris. He wants to get Chris naked on the damp grass and leave him covered in a rainbow of handprints and finger-drawn hearts and mouth-shaped bruises. He wants Chris with his knees grass-stained and his breath sweet like diet coke and vodka and his voice singing along to their favorite songs. 

He wants too much, but he'll be fucking damned if he's not gonna get something before this weekend is over. 

He hears a familiar voice (not Chris, but he knows Chris will be nearby) and looks over. 

Yeah. Tonight's gonna be fun. 

*

The band is rocking, the air vibrating with music that makes Darren want to just float away on how perfect it is. The air is crisper but the body heat is suffocating. 

He lost his shirt about an hour ago, and he doesn't give a fuck where it is anymore. Sweat makes his shorts stick to the small of his back so he has them shoved down until they're just barely caught on his hipbones, any lower and he'd be flashing pubes to the whole crowd. 

Not that they'd care. He's got an eyeful of naked flesh in every direction, and Chris-

Chris, still more dressed than half the fuckers here and twice as hot regardless. Distance, yeah, supposed to keep his distance, but Darren doesn't care. He shuffles and slips through the crowd, getting into quicksilver conversations that he can extract himself from just as easily so he can pretend to just accidentally end up bumping into Chris. 

"Hey, buddy," he says, voice slurring. 

Chris gives him an amused smile. He's not as drunk as Darren; rarely is anymore, not in public, but that's okay. Darren slings an arm around Chris and pulls him in close, finding the skin of Chris's arms cool to the touch but still slick. Salty, he thinks, if he licked Chris. 

He'd love to lick Chris right now. 

He doesn't even realize that he's leaning in dangerously close until Chris nudges his arm off. "Can't," he whispers, apologetic. "Cameraphones." 

"Fuck." Darren pouts, but then someone is calling his name and he turns around to see who. 

When he looks back over, Chris is moving away. 

*

Darren pockets a little tub of blue and one of green and makes his way with purpose. It's past two, and he's lost most of his entourage to the lure of sleep or bands or pot. He couldn't actually tell you where anyone is - he doesn't actually care. 

His phone battery is at ten percent, though, and he knows he needs to find Chris soon before he risks losing contact completely. They play a cat and mouse game of text messages until he locates the stage Chris is closest to and waits. 

A pair of arms slip around him, warming him. He spins and grabs Chris by the waist, lifting him up and twirling. Chris laughs, loud and sharp and close, and hugs Darren tight. "I think I'm high," he says. 

"You smoked?" He's a little surprised. 

"No, just. Secondhand. Or maybe it's you. Maybe it's a contact high." He gives Darren a loopy grin. "Or maybe I'm tired." 

"I don't care what you are, you're hot." Darren kisses him. "And I have a thing I want to do." 

"What?" Chris leans back just far enough to look at Darren. "That sounds dangerous. I should say no." 

"You should say yes," Darren says, and pulls out the little pots. "I want to write on you." 

Chris looks down at the paint and back up and Darren and says the loveliest sound Darren has heard all night: "Okay."

* 

Chris is panting and hard and grinding up into Darren, what started out as cute designs and dirty promises now smeared into a sticky mess. 

"We can't have sex in public," Chris says, hands shoving at Darren only to haul him back in for another kiss. "We can't do this." 

"'s not sex," Darren mumbles, mouth latched onto Chris's neck. It's going to make for some controversial pictures tomorrow but he just doesn't give a fuck. 

Besides, he thinks Chris kind of likes it. 

That two seconds later Chris has them flipped over so he can straddle Darren and grind into him only really serves to confirm the theory. 

"Hotel room?" Chris asks, both hands planted on Darren's shoulders. 

"No," Darren whines. "Let's stay here. All night, come on. Midnight date." 

"It's almost three in the morning," Chris says. 

"Three am date?" 

"We're going to be exhausted, we have things to do tomorrow." 

"I want to do you now," Darren says. 

Chris is breathless, glowing in the moonlight. The music is still pounding all around them, distant and pervasive background noise. "Okay." 

"For real?" 

Chris nods and leans down and kisses Darren, hitching his hips hard to grind down. "You make me do stupid things." 

"You love it," Darren says. 

"I love you," Chris says, and then starts to move again. 

* 

Daylight on Sunday at Coachella finds Chris and Darren curled up together, a blanket they'd found on the ground draped around them. Chris is completely under it, head resting on Darren's chest, hidden from view from anyone that might pass by. 

"Hey," Darren says, voice low and gritty. "Chris." 

Chris murmurs and nuzzles his head in. "No," he says. "Sleep." 

Darren laughs. "Come on. We gotta go before someone catches us." 

Chris's head pops up, suddenly alert and looking terrified. He has a smear of blue on his cheek, a hickey on his neck, and his hair is a mess clumped together in places. "Fuck. We stayed out here all night." 

"It's okay," Darren says. "We're good." 

"Okay." Chris sounds dubious but he gets up. Darren pats his pockets to make sure he hasn't lost his keys, phone, money, or ID but finds everything safe. 

They stand, leaving the blanket to the next random passerby that needs it. They're both cold and Darren's starving, less hunger than he's expected but desperate for a few hours in a bed. "I'm getting too old for this." 

Chris murmurs his agreement and leans into Darren. "My head feels like it's exploded." 

"We'll get you some breakfast and water," Darren promises. 

"And sleep?" 

"And sleep," Darren agrees. It's just past five in the morning, so they should easily be able to get a few more hours. "What time are you meeting... you know?" 

"Uh." Chris yawns through his answer. "Dunno. Phone's dead." 

They walk in silence to the car and Chris climbs into Darren's passenger seat. He scrubs at dried, flaking paint. "Sleep. Water. Breakfast." He repeats it like a mantra. 

Darren looks over at him and grins. "Then we start all over again."


End file.
